


.Tʜᴇ Wᴀʏ.

by HijackTheJackal



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Rant work, This is really sad, This is what I write when I'm upset, be prepared to cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 23:03:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5684542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HijackTheJackal/pseuds/HijackTheJackal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iᴛ's ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ᴡʜᴇɴ Hᴀɴɴɪʙᴀʟ ɢᴇᴛs ᴀ ᴄᴀʟʟ. Hᴇ ʀᴇᴄᴏɢɴɪᴢᴇs ᴛʜᴇ sᴏʙʙɪɴɢ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ɪᴍᴍᴇᴅɪᴀᴛᴇʟʏ.<br/>"Hᴀɴɴɪʙᴀʟ? Gᴇᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ ғᴀsᴛ, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ. Hᴜʀʀʏ."</p>
            </blockquote>





	.Tʜᴇ Wᴀʏ.

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING - This is a rant work. I had a rough night, and instead of drawing I did this. Expect more works from me when I have intense emotions. 
> 
> Based off of THE WAY by Zach Hemsey. Listen to it while you read!  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oN2Xs-MvxLw
> 
> Kudos, comment, and watch for more work on my page! As always, message me with any typos.  
> \-- Tumblr is HijackTheJackal, message me anything, from comments to fanwork, there. --
> 
> Enjoy~

“Hannibal.”

“Will?” Hannibal raised his head off of his pillow, glancing at the clock, “Will, it’s nearly three. What are you doing awake?”

“Hannibal,” Will’s voice was shaking on the other line, “Something kinda bad happened.”

“Will, I need you to calm down. What’s wrong?”

“I - I was drinking. I was on the highway, and,” Will’s voice choked off into a strangled sob.

“Will, what happened? Where are you now?”

“Just on the highway before Wolf Trap. Hannibal, I,” another sob, “He’s already called for help.”

“Who’s called for help?” Hannibal was out of bed now, already fiddling with his pants, the phone grasped between his ear and shoulder.

“I’m fucking drunk. I’m a fucking stupid drunk. I didn’t even press the fucking breaks when I went to turn, fuck.” There was a choked noise, the sound of spitting, “I hit the fucking ditch going 80, fucking flipped my car.”

Hannibal could all but feel his heart stop. Will was sobbing on the other end, “They’re on their way, don’t worry. But I - need you here. I- I need you here, Hannibal.”

“I’m on my way, Will. Stay calm, please don’t move.”

As Will hung up, Hannibal heard him plead, sobbing into the phone, “Hurry.”

 

* * *

 

When Hannibal pulled up, the police and the ambulance had already arrived. He threw his car into park, whipped open the door, and was out of it all in one motion. There was no time for walking, he threw his door shut and hurried to the scene.

He saw another parked car, with a man furiously talking to Police officers, scared out of his mind. Hannibal made his way towards the skid marks on the road.

A Police Officer raised his hand, “Sir, you need to stay back.”

Hannibal practically snarled, hands twitching for his I.D. frantically, “I’m his next of kin.”

The officer eyed him, seeing Hannibal reach hurriedly for his wallet, and immediately stepped aside, “Go ahead. It’s not good.”

Hannibal didn’t need to be told twice. He hurried forward, hands shoved into his pockets, rounding the flashing ambulance.

Will’s car was upright, but there was dirt clinging to the sides, the windows shattered, tires deflated, and the hood was nonexistent. The grass was uprooted in a line from the highway directly to where his car stood.

Several men were at the car, a stretcher was pulled low to the ground, they were dragging a blue and red mass from the driver’s seat.

That mass was Will Graham.

Hannibal ran forwards, jogging in the direction of the car, “Will!” His eyes were transfixed on Will, whose face was contorted in pain, hand gripping his own stomach. Blood was leaking through his fingers, and he was gasping furiously.

A paramedic turned around, “Sir, stay back, at least until we get him on the stretcher.”

Hannibal didn’t even think about using his ‘I’m a Doctor’ excuse. Even though it was true, in this moment he felt like if he touched Will, he would break apart before his eyes.

Will let out a strangled scream as, on three, the paramedics finished the job of laying him down into the stretcher. They lifted it, locked it in place, and began the careful direction to the ambulance.

Hannibal hurried over, grabbing the edge of the stretcher. Will’s eyes, though glazed with pain, glanced up at him, “Hannibal,” he gasped out breathlessly. His free hand, though coated in blood, reached for Hannibal’s. Hannibal grasped it intensely, moving beside the stretcher just as swiftly as he had been before.

They rolled up onto the pavement, and to the back of the ambulance. One of the paramedics ran around, and opened the back doors, all but flinging them off their hinges. Will made a noise as Hannibal was forced to pull away, to stand to the side as they got Will ready to enter the ambulance, but he kept his eyes focused on him, “I’m here, Will,” Hannibal called lightly. Two paramedics jumped up into the back of the ambulance, the last two stayed on the ground, and, on three, they lifted Will up into the back of the vehicle. The sound of pain that Will made was heartbreak to Hannibal’s ears, even more so when Will sobbed out in pain as they secured him. One of the paramedics were mumbling soft encouragements, telling him what was going on, and that it would be okay. Hannibal could see that Will wasn’t listening. When Will was strapped in, he looked at the paramedics, who nodded to him, before he jumped up into the back with them. Immediately, his hand found Will’s again, as the paramedics shuffled around him. The ambulance began to drive off, and the muffled sound of sirens could be heard in the vehicle.

 

It seemed like much too long to get the hospital, even though it was no more than a few minutes. Because they were on the highway, the going was rather straight, and fast, and any cars that were on the road this time of night gladly pulled over. Hannibal clutched Will’s blood-soaked hand, watching between his injuries and Will’s eyes. Every turn they made made Will dully flinch, and Hannibal only gripped tighter. Will let his head fall to the side, and, slowly blinking, gazed at Hannibal through pain-coated eyes. Hannibal stared back, the entire rest of the way there.

 

When they arrived at the E.R., Hannibal stood up, giving Will’s hand the most gentle of squeezes before he let go. He hopped out of the ambulance, and watched in mixed agony as the paramedics went through the painful task of lowering Will off of the vehicle again. Within moments, they were pushing him through the doors into the overly-fluorescent hospital.

Hannibal followed them, keeping easy pace as the paramedics yelled what had happened, what Will’s injuries were. Hannibal flinched as one of them yelled to the nurses, “He’s got a broken back, he’s a number ten.” Hannibal didn’t bother to look over as the nurses picked up on the hospital phones, quickly dialing a number.

They were pushing their way through the doors in seconds, running down brightly lit, white hallways, until they finally pulled up to a curtain. A nurse threw back the material, as a doctor came running, clipboard in hand.

“What’s his name?”

It took Hannibal a moment to register that the doctor was talking to him. The paramedics explained that they couldn’t get much out of him on the scene.

“Will Graham.”

That was all that they needed for now, Will was crying out in pain, his head tilted back, blood gurgling from his mouth.

“Will? Will, I need you to stay calm,” that was the doctor again, speaking loudly so Will could hear him over his own screams, “Cut off his shirt.” That was his order to one of the paramedics, who quickly reached for the fabric scissors, placing them at Will’s stomach and working up. Within seconds, the material was free, and they were ripping back his flannel, exposing his bruised and broken skin to the air.

Will was covered in glass cuts and bruising, a large bruise on his chest was where the air bag, or steering wheel, Hannibal didn’t know if Will bothered to keep his airbags in check, hit him. There was a particularly bad cut on his stomach, blood pulsing out of it in time with his heart. The team worked frantically, hooking Will up to a heart monitor, checking his breathing, his blood pressure, while others started to stop bleeding, one of them shouting, “Get more blood!”

Will’s hands were laying by his side as multiple tubes were hooked up to him, oxygen put over his face. His gaze was dull, and he was staring directly at Hannibal, who was keeping out of the way of the doctors and staring wide-eyed down at Will.

It was about two minutes later that everything started going downhill. Will’s fingers twitched, his eyes softening, his face pale. Hannibal glanced at the monitor, which was checking Will’s vitals constantly. The heart monitor beeped with his continued pulse, but the doctors seemed a bit worried.

Hannibal remembered much of this scene himself, working over people, trying to save their lives. Except now he knew exactly what it was like to be that frantic loved one, scurrying around, in a panic.

Will groaned slightly, tilting his head back, his pulse noticeably slowing. Hannibal whipped his head up, eyeing Will, the doctors scurrying like busy bees.

“Will?” Hannibal questioned, watching a pale finger twitch. Will’s eyes were focused lazily on the ceiling, now.

One of the doctors eyed Hannibal, as Will’s chest heaved, “Can someone get him out of here?”

A nurse gripped Hannibal’s shoulder, and he pulled out of it, calling again, “Will?” The nurse gripped again, along with another, and they started walking him back towards the curtain. Will’s eyes lazily fell back down towards Hannibal. They held no pain, now.

“Will? Will!” Hannibal called again, trying to shake himself of the grasp of the two nurses. They gripped tighter, saying things about having to wait, and how the doctors would take care of him.

It was all too suddenly that the heart monitor connected to Will ceased to beat, and a pitched ringing fell across the room.

Hannibal shook himself again, taking a step forwards, but another nurse grabbed him from behind, their motions frantic, “Will!” He pulled, overpowered by the three people dragging him from the room. Yelling could be heard down the hall, until Hannibal was deposited in the waiting room.

 

It didn’t take long, the wait was short, and agonizing. Within ten minutes, a doctor came to Hannibal, his eyes downcast.

“Will Graham is dead.”

 

When Hannibal got home, he sat down in his chair, and flipped open his sketch book, right to a picture he had been working on of Will. The sun was rising. Hannibal wouldn’t go back to sleep that night.

 

Will Graham was buried three days later. Hannibal wouldn't have missed it for the world. His only regret is that he didn't tell Will what was really going on, in his heart. At least the last memory Will had of him was him being there, holding his hand, fighting for him, with him, beside him. 

Hannibal never once tried to slow his tears.


End file.
